The sorting of Sally Anne Perks
by Coelectichi
Summary: 'I am Sally Anne Perks. I am a Hogwarts student. I am a witch.' Sally Anne was present for the sorting in 1991 but never sat her OWLs. This is one of many theories on why that may have occurred. Please read the warnings as this is not a pleasant tale.


AN: I have recently been looking at the theories behind Sally Anne Perks disappearance (she was sorted but didn't take her OWLs) and wanted to share a theory with you all. The original idea started out quite dark but it quickly deviated into a rather grim tale as I wrote.

Thank you magical fan18 for prompting me to start reading the message boards discussing Sally Anne and I hope you find some interest in reading this fic.

Warnings: Undiagnosed mental illness, childhood abuse and murder.

* * *

I am Sally Anne Perks. I am a Hogwarts student. I am a witch.  
I remember my childhood as if through a piece of glass which has been fogged up by condensation. Occasionally trickles of water run down its face and I see a thin sliver more clearly for a moment, before the droplets reform over the path. I never try to wipe away the steam, I don't want to. I am not there anymore and I don't think I wanted to be there.  
Hand prints have been left on the glass which cause certain areas to remain clear. A childish drawing of a face in the dew leaving that trace of grease behind stopping the even distribution of moisture across the surface. My name written by a shaking hand pushing away the liquid. I will forever be haunted by those snapshots of my childhood I glimpse through the gaps. I'm never happy in those memories.  
 _My mother yelling at me to 'just stop' when I accidentally levitated a doll._  
 _My father pretending he never saw anything._  
 _My mother crying in a corner as I upset her again without knowing how._  
 _My father coming home later and later each night as he couldn't face being in our home._  
 _My mother screaming at me with tears and anger in her eyes._  
 _My father calling me 'devil child' when he could no longer pretend I was 'normal'._  
 _My mother blaming me when my father stopped coming home at all._  
 _She said it was because I had magic._  
 _That was why he left…_  
 _That was why she cried every night…_  
 _That was why I was a bad child…_  
 _That was why they didn't want me anymore..._

...

Then I got my letter.  
My parents had shared custody, weekends with my father and weekdays with my mother. At least that's what I think I remember. My recall is cloudy except for the moment the owl flew through the window and dropped the letter onto my father's table.  
The letter that said it accepted me for who I was.  
The letter that said I was a good child.  
The letter that said it was all going to be ok now.  
The letter that said it would teach me.  
The letter that said I was wanted.  
My father didn't understand.  
My mother cried.  
I left.

...

My next memory is the train and being surrounded by other children who are the same as me.  
They have the same power I do.  
They welcome me as one of them.  
They don't see me as different.  
They don't see me as evil.  
They don't see me as wrong.  
The Great Hall was impressive.  
The long tables of my new family are smiling and happy.  
I wait my turn.  
"Perks, Sally Anne." Professor McGonagall calls out my name and I approach the stool.  
The battered old hat seems to look at me, watching and waiting for me to reach out and touch it.  
My fingers close on the worn brim and I raise it over my head.  
Itchy cotton and felt fall over my eyes. The worn fabric and multiple patches obscuring my vision, whilst the bits of loose thread stick in my hair.  
I begin to panic as a distant, unformed memory causes fear to clench in my chest. Above that though is a sense of familiarity and the welcoming of an old friend. My body relaxes and my breathing slows as the moment of panic passes.  
'Hmm I remember you,' a voice speaks in my mind. 'Back again I see.'  
"What do you mean?" I squeak back quietly as I find my voice. I am nervous of my new family hearing this discussion and thinking something is wrong with me. I can't let them think I am mad. Being insane is wrong and weak and should never be admitted to anyone.  
'My dear, we speak every year.' The reply comes with a sigh. One I am familiar with hearing although I cannot place. 'I remind you of your past each time. Then you ask to forget and return to me each year for sorting.'  
Dim shapes in my mind begin to take form.  
 _An earlier feast with a male teacher reading out my name to come forward._  
 _A different headmaster leading the school song._  
 _"No!" I yell as the memories become more insistent at filling my mind._  
 _A girl telling me before the sorting we would be best friends forever._  
 _A boy asking me where I was from and if I knew any magic already._  
"Stop it!" I try to reach up to rip the hat from my head but my hands feel as if they are glued to the stool.  
'You are trapped here. Repeating this moment until you accept what happened.' The hat's voice is patient as it cuts through the memories.  
 _The girl smiling at me during our first transfiguration class as she successfully got the demonstration to work, much to our teacher's surprise._  
 _Another student asking to sit with me at lunch._  
 _The girl, my friend, telling me excitedly about how she was going home for christmas with her parents and her brothers._  
 _Everyone talking about what presents they hoped to get this year._  
 _My friend asking about my family life._  
 _Other students chatting with us in the dorm room._  
 _My friend saying goodbye to me for the winter break. She was so excited to see her family again and telling me all the things she would bring back for me in the new year._  
 _Then darkness and cold and wet. My hair sticking to my face and a burning in my lungs as I struggled to hold my breath. My mother's voice muffled through the water as she told me everything would be ok now._  
 _We would all be ok now._  
 _Forever._  
 _Happy forever._  
The tears are flowing down my cheeks as the memory settles in my mind.  
"I don't want to remember!" I tell the hat. "I want to be happy! I want to be where I belong!"  
'Very well,' the hat replies before yelling the name of one of the school houses.  
As I lift the hat from my head my gaze meets that of one of the female teachers and I see the water collecting at the edge of her eyes.  
My friend is still here and I will return to see her in the new year.

* * *

Thanks for reading.


End file.
